


Every Day Is Leg Day

by MaesterChill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Cause Harry likes them, Did I mention legs?, Draco has amazing legs, Draco's legs I mean, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, He likes them a lot, M/M, Model!Draco, Mpreg, Mpreg Birth, leg worship, legs for days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-05-26 09:52:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14998298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaesterChill/pseuds/MaesterChill
Summary: The seven days that Harry Potter had life-altering encounters involving Draco Malfoy's legs.





	Every Day Is Leg Day

**Author's Note:**

> Song prompt: _Legs_ (from RuPaul's Drag Race 8), by Naomi Smalls/Lucian Piane.
> 
> _Every day is leg day, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday_  
>  _Thighs, calves all the way_  
>  _Thursday, Friday, Saturday_  
>  _Sunday is the one day, I get on my runway_
> 
> Heartfelt thanks to my incredible alpha/beta [timothysboxers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timothysboxers/) who has helped me in so many ways and is an all-round awesome person. 
> 
>  
> 
> This is a not-for-profit fan work. All characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic.

 

 

_Monday’s legs are in my face_

 

A strong lean expensively-trousered leg stamps on Harry’s face. Body-bound, and lying on the floor of a train carriage, he can do nothing as bones crunch and pain courses up his nose straight to his brain. Blood gushes forth, warm, wet and metallic, filling his mouth. He can’t even cry out as Draco Malfoy deliberately tramples on his fingers before marching away.

Watching the slender legs stride off from his worm’s eye view on the sticky floor of the carriage, Harry turns over in his mind everything he’s heard in the last hour and vows to do whatever it bloody takes to find out what Malfoy is up to.

 

_Tuesday’s legs and my fall from grace_

 

Malfoy’s lying on the floor of the sixth floor bathroom, blood spurting, legs shaking uncontrollably in puddles of water. Harry lays terrified hands on the jerking legs. _Why?_ In an attempt to steady them? He doesn’t know, he’s horrified. All he knows is  _he did this_.

Myrtle is mourning Malfoy’s loss already, keening long and loud and shrill. Harry keeps his hands firmly placed on the boy’s convulsing legs, legs that seem so much scrawnier and fragile than when he’d noticed them in the Quidditch changing rooms. He takes a shaky serrated breath and wills time to turn back, willing whatever magic he has within him to leave his body now if he can just reverse what he’s done, make it right, just stop the blood.

Harry is barely aware of someone screeching _“Murder! Murder!”_ , when Snape bursts in and pushes him aside roughly. He didn’t know, he pleads, he didn’t know what the spell was.

_Save him._

Harry’s insides roil and clench and curl up as Snape starts chanting over the supine lifeless body.

Just _save_ him.

 

_Wednesday’s legs are full of his woe_

 

Harry circles away from the fiery serpent, seeking, searching, desperate, eyes and lungs straining against the heat and the black smoke. Then he hears it. A thin piteous scream coming from deep within the inferno. Malfoy. This time. This time he will save him.

Frightened thighs lock on to Harry’s hips and he’s completely unnerved by the thrill that grips him, the excited throb he feels between his legs as he’s weaving past flaming dragons and chimaeras. Draco presses his sweat-soaked body tightly against him, screaming as Harry dives down to retrieve the glittering diadem.

Draco’s legs and arms are clamped around him so tightly it hurts, and Harry’s never felt so alive. The heat of the Fiendfyre is nothing to the fire that’s burning throughout his body, setting all his nerve endings alight, awakening a realisation of something he thinks he always knew deep down.

Malfoy. Has it always been Malfoy? All this time.

Harry is bereft when Malfoy tumbles off the broom and the robust embrace of Malfoy’s legs is gone.

He is distressed when Malfoy’s coughing turns into anguished sobs, grief-stricken for his fallen friend.

He is heavy-hearted when he realises his place is not to comfort him; they are on opposite sides of the war, and Harry has a job to do.

 

_Thursday’s legs had far to go_

 

Harry squints up at the billboard in Piccadilly Circus. At the never-ending long alabaster legs reaching up high into the sky. Only by shading his eyes with his hand can he eventually see where the hard lines of Draco’s thighs morph into the soft curve of an arse snugly nestled in white cotton. He hadn’t mentioned he’d bagged the _Calvin Klein_ contract but Harry knows those legs, he knows it’s him.

They’ve been dating for eight months, and Harry has mapped out every inch of those smooth shapely legs with his eyes, hands, lips, tongue, teeth; he knows every freckle and scar, every cleft and curve, hollow and dip, and exactly how much pressure to apply to each sensitive spot to make them quiver in arousal and anticipation.

The picture reminds Harry of how proud he is of everything Draco has achieved, making his way in the Muggle fashion world; Merlin it’s perfect, the man is custom-built to be adored and idolised. Since the _Men’s Health_ cover last year—with the caption _Every Day is Leg Day—_ he’s been in high demand in both Muggle and Wizarding advertising campaigns. He’s born for it, a natural, the way Harry is with Quidditch. He’s come such a long way since the war, and is slowly building up the Malfoy fortunes again, since the coffers were drained for war reparations.

Harry thinks he might love Draco. He thinks he might feel a love for him more profoundly than he’s ever felt in his life. He makes his mind up and ducks into that little jewellers on Regent Street.

 

_Friday’s legs are loving and giving_

 

Painstakingly slowly, Draco’s strong elegant legs raise him up and lower him back down onto Harry’s hard aching cock, muscles trembling and flexing and keeping him steady. An exquisite slide, all the way up until his arse muscles are firmly gripping the ridge of Harry’s glans, Draco’s ring of muscle tight enough that Harry’s lube slicked cock is kept vertical for several long seconds and he can feel the cool night air against the flushed skin. It’s sweet drawn-out agony and Harry’s nerve endings vibrate in suspense. Draco’s pale legs keep him hovering in mid-air, and his lust-filled eyes are pure charcoal and search Harry’s soul for the perfect moment to start relaxing them again. He finds it, and smirks impishly, hooded grey eyes twinkling.

The sweet slow slick slide downwards elicits a rapturous moan from both men, Harry revelling in the hot tight heat gradually encasing him. Finally Draco’s arse settles firmly against his groin and the sensations are almost too intense. Harry whimpers, and sensing his need, Draco urges his leg muscles to contract and begin the slow delicious climb once again.

Harry yearns to slam upwards, grab those taut thighs and ruthlessly assault that arse until he’s screaming Draco's name and coming deep inside him, but he doesn’t. He won’t. He knows the man too well, how he requires this control, this mastery of every situation. It’s how he’s got this far in life: discipline, restraint, strategy, manipulation, ascendance. Harry is all urges and physicality and _now_ , and Draco is the very essence of grace and poise and _wait_.

Panting and sweating, Harry drinks in the sight of the beautiful creature in front of him, who has just begun to almost imperceptibly circle his hips on the descent, leg muscles quivering, and is grateful they’ve got a whole week of honeymoon ahead of them, because, by Merlin, they’ll need it.

 

_Saturday’s legs ‘work it’ for a living_

 

Cameras flash as Harry takes his seat in the front row alongside Ginny and Angelina, his Wasps teammates. They’re here for the introduction of the MAN Show at London Fashion week that Draco’s been heavily involved in, an initiative embracing inclusivity and gender fluidity. He’s opening the show and Harry’s beyond excited. He doesn’t get to attend many shows with his strict Quidditch schedule, and his husband seems extra nervous today.

The lights go down and the music starts pumping.

_They tried to put me on the cover of Vogue_

_But my legs were too long!_

Moments later, Draco stomps out to the beat of the music and almost deafening applause, a spotlight following him up the runway.

_Legs, legs, what’s on the menu?_

_Legs, legs, what’s on the menu?_

And legs are the first thing Harry notices. They’re magnificent, glowing ethereally, taking Harry’s breath away. Elegant calves, swooping up to fine toned creamy thighs, flexing and rippling as he makes his way up the runway. Harry’s eyes trace the lines upwards to his extremely short blue-grey shorts and diaphanous silver sleeveless shirt. He gasps when he meets Draco’s austere smoky eyes, his smooth forehead and sharp cheekbones incandescent under androgynous makeup.

Draco stops, poses and turns, and Harry is unable to tear his gaze away from willowy legs and shifting buttocks as he struts back off down the runway in baby pink stilettos, not a single step out of pace with the thumping bass of the song. _Fuck_ , Harry thinks, _the man is sex on legs_.

Beautiful male models come and go, but Harry only has eyes for his husband who he is certain shines more luminously than any of the others.

Ginny whispers in his ear, “Bloody hell, Harry, Draco looks like some sort of shimmering angel!” Okay, It’s definitely not just him then.

Backstage Harry grabs Draco into an embrace, lifts him up and whirls him around. Draco giggles breathlessly.

“Babe, you were brilliant, like insanely good,” Harry gushes, “And gorgeous. And I’m so bloody proud of you.”

“Fuck it was sooo much fun, thanks Harry. That Topman line has, oh Merlin, some heavenly pieces, you wouldn’t think it from a high street designer.” Draco squirms in Harry’s arms, “Put me down! And mind the heels, they’re five inches, you’ll break my ankles!”

Harry lowers Draco to the ground carefully, “Your body, Draco, fuck, your legs, you’re just so—” Harry notices Draco pursing his lips and fiddling with the gold zip on his arm. “What is it?”

“Harry,” Draco still isn’t looking at him, “Would you still love me if I wasn’t this shape? If I—If I got fat?”

“What are you talking about? Of course I would, but _you’re_ not gonna get fat, you daft prat. Why would you say that?”

Draco looks up at him, eyes wary, “I am. I _am_ going to get fat. I am because, oh Harry, because I’m pregnant!”

Harry staggers backwards, mind reeling, and then shakes his head brusquely to pull himself together. “Draco! Oh Merlin, that’s fucking amazing!” He surges forward and envelops Draco in bear hug, kissing and nuzzling his neck, grinning stupidly, and then pulls back abruptly. “Shit, sorry, did I hurt you?”

Laughing, Draco pulls Harry back towards him, “No silly, the baby’s only the size of a poppy seed.”

“A baby. A poppy seed sized baby… I’m gonna be a dad…. Us. We. We’re gonna be dads!”

 

_But the legs that bore my child on the Sabbath day_

_Are strong and lithe and good and gay_

 

Harry nods nervously to the two Healers and they begin the incantations. Colours and lights swirl around Draco’s swollen abdomen. Draco clutches Harry’s hand so hard he knows he’ll have red marks there tomorrow. He doesn’t care though. The day is finally here, after nine months of planning and dreaming; mood swings and water retention; midnight meals of Tunnock’s tea cakes and cheesy Wotsits; name-choosing and nest-building; it’s time for the first ever Potter-Malfoy to enter the world.

“Right Mr. Malfoy, the baby is now in the optimal birthing position and, as you may be able to detect,” Healer MacKenzie chuckles amiably, “we have now magically transfigured your body to provide you with a birth canal. Everything is in place to ensure a safe delivery. You may wish to get on all fours now, as it will be considerably easier to push. Next contraction, I want you to push as hard as you can.”

Harry helps Draco turn over on the bed on to his hands and knees and rubs soft circles into his back. Draco emits a low whine and clutches the sheets as a contraction hits, squeezing his eyes shut and pushing with all his might as Harry croons in his ear, still rubbing his back, firmer now.

When the contraction subsides, Draco whimpers, “It hurts too much Harry, I can’t do it.”

“Of course you can, love,” Harry soothes. He turns to look behind him, “Healer MacKenzie, can you give him something for the pain?”

“It’s my back and legs Harry, and well, my new, umm, opening,” Draco says bashfully, “They all hurt.”

“We’ve got some salve here that’ll alleviate that for you Mr. Malfoy. Contains bitterroot, star grass and murtlap. It needs to be applied directly to the affected area, which I can do for you as it may be awkward for you to reach.”

“Harry, you do it,” Draco begs. “Please?”

“Of course, darling. Of course I will. Just hold still.”

Harry spreads the salve over his husbands back, rubbing it in carefully. He can feel the tingle of the salve’s magic on his fingers, warm and instantly soothing. He gently slathers a generous amount around Draco’s raw stretched opening and surrounding skin, resulting in a rather more pleasant moan from his husband than he'd heard in a while. Next he spreads the salve across the back of Draco’s thighs, reverently massaging and kneading, and Draco pushes back against the pressure of Harry’s hands.

“Mmmm, that’s so much better,” Draco sighs.

“Gods, I love your legs—” Harry starts, but is cut off by Draco’s wail as the next contraction hits him. He pushes and pushes and Harry gasps as the top of the baby’s head begins to emerge.

“Healer, quick! The baby’s coming!” Harry shouts, and the Healers rush to attend to Draco urging him on to one more big final push and then it’s done.

He’s here.

Their baby boy.

A pale red-faced scrawny boy, with downy blond hair. The most beautiful perfect creature. He opens his eyes and Harry is in love all over again.

Harry helps to cut the cord, and a Healer shows him how to swaddle the baby in a soft blue blanket. He brings the tiny bundle to Draco who is lying, spent, on his back.

“Here you go... Dad…” Harry chokes out, carefully placing their son on his chest, “Our little poppy seed. You did so good. You were incredible. I love you.”

Draco looks down at his son’s face and his eyes fill up with tears. “ _You’re_ the Dad,” Draco corrects, voice thick with emotion. He presses a kiss to the baby’s forehead. “Scorpius will address me as Father.”

“You got it,” Harry chuckles, holding back his own tears. His heart is brimming with love and he is hit with the certainty in that moment that he would do absolutely anything to make this extraordinary, incomparable man happy, “‘Father’ it is.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the anonymous prompter for _Legs_ , by Naomi Smalls/Lucian Piane. You said you wanted Draco to be the one with the amazing legs so I ran with it and it was a lot of fun.
> 
> For anyone wondering, the section titles are a play on the nursery rhyme _Monday's Child_. No reason why really, I just wanted to. And no I don't take drugs. XD


End file.
